Literary Vibes - Edition CLVIII (31-Oct-2025) - POEMS & BOOK REVIEW
Title : Friends (Watercolour by Ms. Latha Prem Sakya)
An acclaimed Painter, a published poet, a self-styled green woman passionately planting fruit trees, a published translator, and a former Professor, Lathaprem Sakhya, was born to Tamil parents settled in Kerala. Widely anthologized, she is a regular contributor of poems, short stories and paintings to several e-magazines and print books. Recently published anthologies in which her stories have come out are Ether Ore, Cocoon Stories, and He She It: The Grammar of Marriage. She is a member of the executive board of Aksharasthree the Literary Woman and editor of the e - magazines - Aksharasthree and Science Shore. She is also a vibrant participant in 5 Poetry groups. Aksharasthree - The Literary Woman, Literary Vibes, India Poetry Circle and New Voices and Poetry Chain. Her poetry books are Memory Rain, 2008, Nature At My Doorstep, 2011 and Vernal Strokes, 2015. She has done two translations of novels from Malayalam to English, Kunjathol 2022, (A translation of Shanthini Tom's Kunjathol) and Rabboni 2023 ( a Translation of Rosy Thampy's Malayalam novel Rabboni) and currently she is busy with two more projects.
Title : The Beat of Life (Tribal painting by Swatishree Parija)
Swatishree Parija is a second year B.Ed..student from Jajpur, Odisha. She is passionate about literature, painting and photography from her school days. She writes excellent poetry. Her paintings and photographic creations are equally outstanding. She has won many awards in essay writing, painting, and debate at the block, district, and state level.
Dear Readers,
Welcome to the 158th edition of LiteraryVibes. It comes adorned with some exquisitely beautiful poems and charming short stories. Hope you will enjoy them and share them with your friends and relatives.
After the gaiety of Deepavali we start getting the pleasant whiff of winter. Days become less oppressive, nights get cooler. It is time to enjoy cosy family conversations relished with endless cups of tea and tasty savories.
Speaking of cosy family conversations, most of us who work for a living, return home in the evenings to relax in the sweet company of the spouse and children. I often tell my friends that what determines a good, happy life is not how big a job one is doing but what is the quality of family one has. A welcoming smile from the spouse at the end of a working day is like manna from heaven. I recently came across a beautiful post which not only celebrates the sweetness of a loving spouse but also the true pride of patriotism.. I am sharing the post here.
FROM THE PEN OF AN ARMY OFFICER
I was trained to fight Wars.
She was never trained for the kind of battles, she fought every day.
When I left for NDA, I was 18.
A BOY full of pride,
Carrying a steel trunk and dreams.
When I got Commissioned,
I was 22 : A MAN in uniform.
But the day I Married her,
I realised the true meaning of courage...
Not in Bullets, but in Patience.
The first time I got posted to the border,
She didn’t cry.
She just smiled and said,
“Bas phone karte rehna.”
And when the phone didn’t connect for days,
She still smiled when her parents asked, “Kaisa hai beta?”
She’s been smiling through uncertainty ever since.
She celebrates Diwali by herself.
Lights diyas in every corner of our small SF quarter...
Says it makes her feel I’m home.
One year, the electricity went out.
She told me later how she sat in darkness, lighting candles one by one, whispering to my Mom :
“He must be lighting diyas on the border too.”
That night, I was under a tarpaulin tent, eating cold poori and pickle from a dented mess tin.
Karwachauths come and go.
She dresses up, puts on sindoor, opens the video call, and smiles through a weak network..
“Main dekh liya, tum khana khao.”
The call drops before I can even reply.
She handles everything.
From paying bills online to fixing the water motor.
When the car broke down,
she learned to push-start it.
When I couldn’t come home for medical emergencies,
she sat in the hospital alone, praying to every god she knew.
Through it all, she never complains. Not even once.
She once had a promising career
a steady job, her own desk, colleagues, and a sense of independence she had built with quiet pride.
But when I got my first peace posting,
She made a choice most won’t understand.
She left it all behind..
Not because she had to,
but because she wanted to be with us.
She said, “What’s the point of building a career if it keeps us apart?”
Since then, every posting, every move, every new city has been her project ..
Rebuilding a home from scratch, Without complaint,
Without applause.
She keeps my medals polished but tells me softly..
“Don’t bring more medals, if they cost us more years apart.”
I’ve realised that the bravest salute isn’t given on the parade ground..
it’s given silently...
..by a woman waving from a railway platform.
They don’t wear stars on their shoulders,
but they carry the weight of our absence,
With grace.
So if you ever meet a soldier,
Salute twice ..
once for him,
and once for his Wife
that keeps him strong.
Because I may have fought for the Nation,
but she fought for my life.
And she won every single time.
?? To every military wife!!
YOU are the unseen medal
We proudly wear ????
Friends, very touching story. A salute from LiteraryVibes to our country, our brave soldiers and their braver wives.
Please share the LV158 with all your contacts through the following links:
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/613 (Poems and a Book Review)
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/612 (Short Stories and Anecdotes)
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/611 (Young Magic)
There is also an anecdotal article by the famous Gynaecologist Dr. Gangadhar Sahoo at
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/610
Relax. Enjoy the winter with LiteraryVibes till we meet again on 28th November.
With warm regards
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Editor, LiteraryVibes
Bhubaneswar, Friday, the 31st October, 2025
Table of Contents :: Poems
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
LONELY
SILENCES
02) Dilip Mohapatra
THE DOOR
03) Abani Udgata
AUTUMN’S END
04) Snehaprava Das
OF A MID SUMMER EVENING
A MOMENT IN UNWIND
05) Anita Panda
WHEN I GROW OLD
06) Kunal Roy
THE ETERNAL COMPANION
07) Satish Pashine
A FAREWELL LIKE THIS TOO!
08) Baldev Samantaray
THE BIRD
09) Pradeep Kumar Biswal
GLANCING AT GAZA
10) Dr Bichitra Kumar Behura
THRESHOLD OF BECOMING
JUST STAY LIKE THIS
11) Dr Nanda Kishore Biswal
THE INNOCUOUS TREE(PART- II)
12) Sudipta Mishra
MEMORIES
13) Aneek Chatterjee
WORDS IN THE DARK
14) Leena Thampi
LESSONS PEOPLE OFTEN LEARN TOO LATE
CELESTIAL MELODIES
15) Darsana Kalarickal
WINDOWS OPENING TO GREEN
16) Matralina Pati
THE PADDY SHEAF
17) Sathya Venkatesh
LIFE IS PRECIOUS – KEEP THE FAITH AND HOPE
18) Nandini Mitra
EMOTIONS SWELL WITHIN
I SEND YOU AN OPEN INVITATION!
19) Bipin Patsani
HUMAN RELATION
RESURRECTION
20) Ms Gargi Saha
REALITY
ASKING FOR
TIME
21) Swatishree Parija
THE STUBBORN DEATH
22) Sreedharan Parokode
THE PERENNIAL LIGHTS
23) Dr. Radharani Nanda
GOD`S GIFT
24) Mrs. Setaluri Padmavathi
NATURE AND LOVE
25) Dr. Niranjan Barik
THE INTERMISSION
5) Arpita Priyadarsini
ONCE
26) Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi
MY FRETFUL CONCUBINE
Table of Contents :: Book Review
1) Jaydeep Sarangi
POETRY AS A DOOR TO WELLNESS
Prabhanjan K. Mishra
It is so quiet here,
no, not even a pencil tip breaks,
so away from all
eyes sweep over blank spaces.
The air is cut parallelly
layer over layer of silences
heaped one above the other,
like raw fish, and raw meat on rice in Sushi.
I stand on my head. An inverted Buddha,
perhaps striking roots, unmoved,
ascetic or Oak; does it matter?
Does it matter if I am meditating or sulking?
No, it is not so. Look close
through layers of affected acts
of a poet, busy spreading
his net for catching fresh images.
No, it's not true either. Look still closer.
Not a dejected friend, or a helpless husband,
not a reticent father, all of them moving
in their own loci. I, a man, left in desolation.
Prabhanjan K. Mishra
We crowded you, your room,
filled your personal space
that snoozed by the Mango tree.
Like clucking hens, we three
made a commotion of thirty.
And you sat in your bubble
of solitude, silent, wearing
an inscrutable mood
between downcast and detached.
A praying Buddha, eyes ajar.
You encompassed the silence
of eons, of humans, animals, and plants;
living, dead, spiritual, and feral;
on the earth, in the sea, and in the sky;
visible, sentient, and beyond.
After the informal tea, Sarojini,
Nani, and I, the three of us,
making the hubbub of thirty.
Sarojini, Nani, and you stood
beneath the giant Mango tree.
To say bye to me, the tree no more there
but still existing like the river Saraswati,
in your poetic myth; resolutely dead
but living indelibly in memory,
a yawn unfinished, a sneeze dodging.
Gone were the tree’s nesting birds,
the scurrying ants, but their ghosts
hobnob like the fruitlets that once
lent freshness to the swishing wind.
I stood apart from you three, basking.
For a change, all had fallen silent,
the infection from you was
catching us up of late like a footnote.
Nani and Sarojini appropriately
wearing their moods, to say 'Bye' to me.
But you, the Buddha, parted your lips,
making me, the poor greedy devil,
spread my napkin to collect
the poetic crumbs. But you said, "I love
the cacophony you bring along."
(A tribute to the poet Jayanta Mahapatra after he passed away, but based on what had happened once, if not literally but figuratively.)
Prabhanjan K. Mishra is an award-winning Indian poet from India, besides being a story writer, translator, editor, and critic; a former president of Poetry Circle, Bombay (Mumbai), an association of Indo-English poets. He edited POIESIS, the literary magazine of this poets’ association for eight years. His poems have been widely published, his own works and translation from the works of other poets. He has published three books of his poems and his poems have appeared in twenty anthologies in India and abroad.
Dilip Mohapatra
The door
has lost its meaning for me
it doesn’t matter if it’s open
or closed.
No one knocks on my door
anymore
nor does anyone enter
through it
to rob me of silence
my loneliness
and my desperation—
The world perhaps has shut its
door on me
and my door
has become thin air.
It seems I failed to sense
an unseen presence
in apparent absence
the God whom I had
denied all along…
and who refuses to leave
the four walls which
give me refuge.
The door in its
muteness and transparency
still protects me
from the falsehoods
and deceptions
that lie outside
while the arms of God
within the confines of
this doorless home
hold me in a tight cwtch.
Dilip Mohapatra, a decorated Navy Veteran is a well acclaimed poet in contemporary English and his poems appear in many literary journals of repute and anthologies worldwide. He has nine poetry collections, two short story collections and two professional books to his credit. He is a regular contributor to Literary Vibes. He the recipient of multiple awards for his literary activities, which include the prestigious Honour Award for complete work under Naji Naaman Literary Awards for 2020. He holds the honorary title of ‘Member of Maison Naaman pour la Culture’. He lives in Pune and his email id is dilipmohapatra@gmail.com
Abani Udgata
Let this be the place.
The wind at the door
the thinly greyish morning
the pages of a book
read often in the past
now beginning to age
not quite needed now
but not forgotten either.
Few crows and pigeons
circling over the lushness
of trees weaned on the season
of rains, sway like impromptu
garlands dancing to the tune
of our breaths, our tears
and joys, our search.
To know, what lies beyond autumn?
Let this be the place to centre.
We had been here before.
And stood still in the moments.
Doffed our hats to each falling leaf.
Autumn dyed the leaves
in its colours of brittle
foregone sunsets
behind the ancient hills.
The crisp air now homing in
on the wings of muttering,
whirling wasps seeks an alcove
in the craters of our bones.
The encoded psalms whisper
in the veil of thin fog.
Abani Udgata lives in Bhubaneswar. Writes poems both in English and Odia. Udgata has been awarded in all-India poetry competitions and published in anthologies. He has been a regular contributor to LV. Email: abaniudgata@gmail.com
Snehaprava Das
We walk on the parallel edges
Of a path that has suddenly
opened up in our front
And slithered into a forgotten forest,
As we struggle through
Sagging under our private sorrows
But shying to share,
Each holding a portrait inside
Of a midsummer evening's memory
Close to the heart
One yours, one mine, but the same;
We let our drooping gazes sail across
The autumn that sprawls on the
Squalid buildings and pavements littered with leaves and their fading hues,
The sun slants palely over the passive mountains beyond,
A hushed darkness of the evening
Patient and unyielding
Lurks behind their placid contours,
Two tiny stars, painted on the
Greying canvas above,
one yours, one mine, get closer to become one in the furtive sparkle
behind a screen of smog,
One intimate dream of a mid-summer evening, and
A fragrant note of undying love
That slowly melts into a swirl of smoke
To hang over the landscape of yesterday....
Two portraits, one is You and one is I
In the blurred shade of a forbidden moment
Caught in one frame
Like one soul losing itself in another,
In one midsummer evening
Of centuries ago,
Together and become one, wearing one face,
Two lives sharing one soul
Sauntering along the parallel roads
Of Time,
Seeping the warmth of one
Midsummer Evening!
Snehaprava Das
Like a yarn of thread
Slowly untwining itself,
A moment unwinds
And rolls back to
Where a liquid girl sits by a lone
Palash tree gathering
Velvet smiles of red under its boughs,
Capturing the misty breeze
In the luscious bounce of her hair,
The broken light of a summer sun
In her morning eyes,
The moment rolls back
A ribbon of exotic memory
Meandering in silken curves,
Riding over the ripples of
A forbidden love,
It flows to meet the mysterious
Depth of a forgotten sea
Till it meets a desert and loses
Itself in its perpetuity
The sunlight fades in
The eyes of the girl
Her moons become ash under the bridge,
The waves of wind in her hair
Brittle and freeze,
The moment falls in drops, one after another as she sits listless under the
Palasha and then it goes dry,
Plop, plop, plop
The palash buds of summer
drop one by one
on the frost bitten floor and die,
Dr.Snehaprava Das, former Associate Professor of English, is an acclaimed translator of Odisha. She has translated a number of Odia texts, both classic and contemporary into English. Among the early writings she had rendered in English, worth mentioning are FakirMohan Senapati's novel Prayaschitta (The Penance) and his long poem Utkala Bhramanam, which is believed to be a.poetic journey through Odisha's cultural space(A Tour through Odisha). As a translator Dr.Das is inclined to explore the different possibilities the act of translating involves, while rendering texts of Odia in to English.Besides being a translator Dr.Das is also a poet and a story teller and has five anthologies of English poems to her credit. Her recently published title Night of the Snake (a collection of English stories) where she has shifted her focus from the broader spectrum of social realities to the inner conscious of the protagonist, has been well received by the readers. Her poems display her effort to transport the individual suffering to a heightened plane of the universal.
Dr. Snehaprava Das has received the Prabashi Bhasha Sahitya Sammana award The Intellect (New Delhi), The Jivanananda Das Translation award (The Antonym, Kolkata), and The FakirMohan Sahitya parishad award(Odisha) for her translation.
Anita Panda
When I grow old,
I wish to embrace the solitude with strength!
Not as a mark of loneliness or sorrow.
But as a medal of my courage, resilience and wisdom garnered over the years.
To let go of a spouse, partner, children, family and friends,
Lost to time, circumstance or fate with Grace!
Accept and confront the void with acceptance and resilience.
When I grow old,
I wish to walk into the twilight of my life with head held high !
My shoulders square, back and strong!
Brave enough to endure it all with a calm smile.
When I grow old,
I wish to embrace ageing not as a withering of body and mind,
But as a gift of life from Almighty and cherish my ageless and beautiful soul!
Befriend the silence. Make it my companion and teacher!
And celebrate my self-worth and every moment with joy.
When I grow old,
I do not wish to become a prisoner of my failing faculties,
But face it, embrace it and lead life robustly.
Make each moment of my existence worthwhile!
Reinvent and live the rest of my life with optimism.
When I grow old,
I wish to have the power to release all my pain, resentment and regrets !
Not allow it to define or tarnish the fading years of my life…
To forgive and let go of all who wronged, betrayed or let me down,
Not for them but for myself!
And no more become a prisoner of my past.
When I grow old,
I wish to become someone worth becoming and remembering!
Vivacious and full of life spreading joy everywhere!
A return to myself and rediscover my remaining life.
Unmindful of applause or rejection…
Embrace the silence not for its emptiness but for its depth and answers,
To celebrate the courage I still have left.
When I grow old,
I wish to embrace it with grace!
To heal a heart, hug the needy and spread a smile wherever I go!
To sip a cup of tea, inhale a flower’s scent, hear a bird song with leisurely ease
A child of Nature always and forever..
To not believe the lie,
That I’ve nothing left to give!
To wear my silver years as my cloak of privilege with pride!
Leave behind a legacy of my own!
And leave this callous world as a better place to BE…
Anita Panda is a Mumbai-based bilingual writer-poet, the self-published author of ‘GENESIS’, (2021), dedicated to her valiant Late brother Colonel Suryakant Panda & the author of her debut book of 47 English poems- ‘SONGS OF MY SOUL’ (2023).
Kunal Roy
The autumn firmament was punctuated with despair,
But You came with all Your strength and might,
Honour and Glory,
The City decked up,
Celebration was redefined!
The lamps were lit,
The offerings were made,
The DAY ripened
For You to return-
Your own Home,
Your own Abode,
To unite with Your Lord!
Gloominess pervaded,
Smiles, Laughter and Jokes
melted to a little extent!
The hope still sprouts
From the seed of soul:
Come again My Mother.
A deep illusion,
You are the Divine Consciousness,
You are the Axiom,
Stay with us always.
Yet rituals manifest in Your creation!
My Mother,
Our Mother,
You
The Mother of the Universe,
The Queen of the Cosmos,
Omnipresent,
Omniscient,
Omnipotent!!
Kunal Roy has always been an ardent lover of literature. He has received various awards for his literary contributions. He is a poet and a critic of poetry. His works have been published both here and abroad. Currently working as an Assistant Professor of English Language and Communication in George Group of Colleges, Kolkata.
Satish Pashine
They gave up
not just dreams —
they gave up
the right to dream.
The right to want.
To ask.
To rest.
Every desire
folded quietly
beneath
someone else’s future.
They didn’t chase
the world.
They built a bridge
so their children could.
Brick by brick —
with savings,
with silence,
with surrender.
No celebrations
for promotions.
No holidays.
No midlife joys.
Only receipts.
Only loans
paid in full
while they watched
from behind
the curtain
of their own
fading youth.
Then the call came.
“Ma, I got the job…
abroad.”
Their hearts swelled.
Not with gain,
but with release.
Their child
had broken orbit.
And still —
a small, sacred ache
hid in the corners
of their smiles.
They gave blessings
with trembling hands,
as if passing
the last
of their light.
Their only ask —
“Just…
remember us.
Sometimes.”
Years passed.
Grandchildren came.
They returned
to the role
they knew best —
caretakers again.
Of babies.
Of routines.
Of homes
that were never
theirs.
They stayed
long enough
to be helpful.
But never
long enough
to belong.
Then came
the silence.
Empty beds.
Uneaten meals.
Emojis
instead of voices.
Festivals
with no footsteps
at the door.
A life lived
in waiting rooms
of thinning
video calls.
One day —
illness knocked.
Not loudly.
Just the quiet,
final certainty
of age.
They called.
The child replied,
“Can we talk later, Ma?”
And the end
came quietly —
as it always does
for those
who never
asked for much.
Ashes drifted
into the river.
Time moved on.
And somewhere
in a small house,
a mother
kept living.
Not truly.
Just enough.
She spoke
to plants.
To framed smiles.
To silence
that spoke back.
Her soul —
once a storm —
was now
a flickering diya,
waiting
to be remembered.
Not glorified.
Not worshipped.
Just…
remembered.
And her question —
never spoken,
never answered —
echoes still
through homes
where phones ring
but hearts don’t:
Did we raise them
to fly so far
they forgot
who gave them wings?
This story
won’t make news.
No medals.
No martyrdom.
Just love —
so pure
it made itself
invisible.
And what remains
is only this:
a whisper,
a half-prayer,
a breath held —
“If you ever return…
don’t let it be
just for the funeral.”
Dying While Still Alive
Shri Satish Pashine is a Metallurgical Engineer. Founder and Principal Consultant, Q-Tech Consultancy, he lives in Bhubaneswar and loves to dabble in literature.
Baldev Samantaray
The unabashed aggression
of the setting Sun
and the fast changing sky
sprinkled with herds of twilight cloud.
The languor of the tropical branches
swaying in monsoon wind
playing hide and seek
with the golden glow,
labouring hard to touch me.
I remember the evening time
the outstretched fingers
my indulgent mother
running in circles to feed me
before I leave for the playing field.
Neither the Sun
nor my mother
had their signatures writ large,
all they wanted
was my awe struck eyes
and the warm longing floating in it
like melting ice cubes
in an unfinished glass of whiskey.
Memories of disparate moments
are colliding clouds
that run over each other
and revisit together.
It comes in everyone’s life
it comes every day.
The bird is only a poet,
a surrogate mother
for those who missed it.
Baldev Samantaray is a retired banker who lives in Bhubaneswar. He did his post graduation in English literature from Ravenshaw College (76-78).He started writing from his Ravenshaw days. Many of his poems appear in various journals and anthologies.
Pradeep Kumar Biswal
It’s a dust-choked sky
A silence sharp like a knife
Where broken stones litter
And the innocent children
Play on the bloodstained streets
Oblivious of the suffocating air.
My heart goes out
To Gaza's streets
Where tears flow freely
I hear the echo
Of blasting mortar shells
And a distant sobbing cry.
I see a dream dissolved
In the troubled water
And the shadow
Of a life in darkness
A future doomed
Forever
A story growing old
Day by day.
For every mother
Holding her tears
For every father
Battling through the pains
For the young eyes
Those seen too much so early
My heart aches
For a healing moon.
No borders mark the place
In the globe
Just human sorrows
Etched upon each face.
The gentle olive tree
A witness stands motionless
Bears silent testament
To love's enduring will.
May peace prevail
Where dreams turn to ashes
May divine grace
Embrace the cursed land.
Pradeep Biswal is a distinguished bilingual poet, translator and editor. He has nine poetry collections in Odia and three in English. His poems have been translated into Hindi, Telugu, Punjabi, Assamese and Malay languages and got published in separate volumes. He’s the curator of Toshali Literature Festival and editor of monthly web magazine kabitalive.com. A retired IAS officer, he’s staying with his family in Bhubaneswar.
Dr Bichitra Kumar Behura
Here my world dissolves,
and from the vanishing edge
a new beginning rises—
a silence
between sea and sky.
Clouds lean down to speak with waves,
their colors entwining,
a secret union
of the seen and unseen.
I stand, suspended—
where do I belong?
I walk the line between realms,
sometimes of earth, sometimes of ether,
never certain
what is dream,
what is real.
I dip my feet in the water,
draw the breath of the mist-laden sky.
I am both—
wave and cloud,
air and tide.
What the eye finds
is only a fleeting trace—
a footprint on the shore,
or nothing at all,
vanished into the blue eternal.
Dr Bichitra Kumar Behura
Just stay like this,
when everything shifts around you.
They may see you differently,
but you—remain as you are.
Isn’t it as hard
to stay true to yourself
as it is to flow
with the others in the stream?
Some call it easy,
others call it hard—
yet isn’t it simply
the nature of you and me?
Never mind
what they say or define;
after all, it is your journey—
live each moment as you please.
Let them judge you
in whatever way they will.
Close your eyes,
and see—
you are what you have always been.
Dr. Bichitra Kumar Behura, is an Engineer from BITS, Pilani and has done his MBA and PhD in Marketing. He writes both in Odia and English. He has published three books on collection of English poems titled “The Mystic in the Land of Love” , “The Mystic is in Love” and “The Mystic’s Mysterious World of Love” and a non-fiction “Walking with Baba, the Mystic”. He has also published three books on collection of Odia Poems titled “ Ananta Sparsa”, “Lagna Deha” and “Nirab Pathika”. Dr Behura welcomes feedback @ bkbehura@gmail.com. One can visit him at bichitrabehura.org
Dr Nanda Kishore Biswal
The tree’s life, the young crow had brightened up,
making him feel warm.
His life’s Sunshine he was,
his calm in the storm.
But unreported he left,
as if for good, signalling
all things must come to an end.
This made the tree suffer
from the pang of separation
and bringing the feeling of a wave of sadness, when alone.
A long corridor of silence
his life became, for he loved
him for a reason, and for no reason as well.
Bigger and longer his longings grew,
that he hid in the quiet corridor of his heart;
a small flame of hope for his return,
alive he kept, even through storms.
For chasing excitement, thrill or passion,
or to discover his own worth, or be empowered—
nobody knew as to why he left.
But overtime, he pushed through competitions,
and through the dense fog of lies,
and the pervading chaos.
After enough chaos, peace becomes priceless.
The more the crow looked for peace,
the more he was chased by anxiety.
This was the realization
that drove his return.
Words of his patriarch-mentor
preserved in the silhouette of his memory
rekindled:
“Work hard to see success; but not lose yourself in the process”.
“Rise in life but like a tree:
if you want to go upward, go downwards as much.”
“Gratitude makes you down to earth
and connected with the loved ones.”
While as a fledgling,
regaled he was with funny stories,
and with the recipe of moral fables,
while being taught:
naivety and trust have not left this world
with the people of the past.
Dr Nanda Kishore Biswal, after teaching English language and literature for more than thirty five years in different colleges of Odisha, retired as an Associate professor. Passionate in reading poetry, intermittently, he has been writing poetry since his college days.1996 to1999 was his most fertile period when his Odia poems were published in almost all Odia dailies as well as in most of the Odia magazines. Also he writes English poems. He has authored The Fictional Transfiguration of History in the Novels of Salman Rushdie, Amitav Ghosh and Rohinton Mistry. Besides, he has edited Prananath Patnaik:A purveyor of Egalitarianism Currently, he is engaged in writing reviews of the poetry collections of the new poets who write in English.
Sudipta Mishra
We live on memories.
Every day we look back,
Soaking in the echoes of the past.
With wet hearts,
We move on.
Days pass,
We stay eager
To create moments of glory.
We hold them close
For tomorrow.
While reflecting on
the remembrance of yore
We make room for tomorrow.
Many a time,
The demons of old wounds
Lurk behind the curtains
of yesteryear.
We take a pause,
And then wait
with longing eyes...
No soul on earth can
live sans memories.
It's the wings of memories
That propel the bird
of imagination
To soar high
Across the faraway sky.
Sudipta Mishra is a multi-faceted artist and dancer excelling in various fields of art and culture. She has co-authored more than a hundred books. Her book, 'The Essence of Life', is credited with Amazon's bestseller. Her next creation, 'The Songs of My Heart' is scaling newer heights of glory. Her poems are a beautiful amalgamation of imagery and metaphors. She has garnered numerous accolades from international organizations like the famous Rabindranath Tagore Memorial, Mahadevi Verma Sahitya Siromani Award, an Honorary Doctorate, and so on. She regularly pens articles in newspapers as a strong female voice against gender discrimination, global warming, domestic violence against women, pandemics, and the ongoing war. She is pursuing a Ph.D. degree in English. Her fourth book, Everything I Never Told You is a collection of a hundred soulful poems. Currently, she is residing in Puri.
Aneek Chatterjee
I tried to scribble some words on
a white paper.
But the words felt ashamed to appear
in the dark.
Outside my window, the sun was
shining bright in the autumn morning.
The words whispered in my ears:
war mongers are on a feast now;
tears of brutalized women in
the ‘peaceful’ society
have crippled us;
hooligans have forbidden
us to laugh. Criminal minds have stolen
our ardours, ideas.
We are too paralyzed
to show our faces
in this illuminated dark.
Aneek Chatterjee is a poet and academic from Kolkata, India. He has published more than six hundred poems in reputed literary magazines and poetry anthologies across the globe. He authored 17 books including five poetry collections titled, “Seaside Myopia” (Cyberwit, 2018), “Unborn Poems and Yellow Prison” (Cyberwit, 2019), “Of Ashes and Persiflage” (Hawakal, 2020), “Archive Avenue” (Cyberwit, 2022) and "Last Evening Was A River" (Penprints, 2024). He also co-edited the “Poetry Conclave Year Book 2022” (Authors Press, 2022). A Pushcart Prize nominee, Dr. Chatterjee also received the prestigious “Alfredo Pasilono Memorial Panorama International Literary Award 2023”. He was a Fulbright Visiting faculty at the University of Virginia, USA and a recipient of the ICCR Chair (Govt. of India) to teach abroad. His poetry has been archived at Yale University. He can be reached at: akchatjee@gmail.com
LESSONS PEOPLE OFTEN LEARN TOO LATE
Leena Thampi
Time slips through our fingers like sand
We fail to grasp its importance understand
Life's harsh lessons come too late
For those who wander aimlessly, their fate
They should have listened to wisdom's call
Instead of waiting for a rude awakening to fall
These realizations can cost us many choices
My parents never had to teach me what's good and what's bad
They lived as role models to be emulated,
I learned it from the books I read
The movies I watched
The friends I made,
The people I met
Don't blame it on the DNA,
Good parents may raise bad children
Bad parents may raise good children
Everyone is still learning,there are no right answers,fundamental truths or holy grails.
There are only lessons learned
Any seeds you planted in the past, either good or bad,
will begin to bear fruit and affect the quality of your life as you get older ;for better or worse
As we journey through life's vast unseen,
We often learn lessons when we're in between,
The wisdom we gain as we age and grow,
Teaches us things we wish we'd known long ago.
Leena Thampi
My heartbeat syncs with thee beloved And notice how melodious is the rhythm
Better than my dreams, you're my beautiful reality
You're that one soul who really understands me
In my life's library, you're my favorite book
The one that I've been searching for,
From my early childhood
Your pages are filled with love,
Your words are my heart's score,
Together we'll create a love that will last forevermore
In your eyes, I see my reflection
A love so pure, a true connection
At this moment,time stands still and true
As I converse with thee through lyrics anew
The Universe aligns in harmony and grace
As our love resonates in this celestial space
In this flute connection I find my solace
A sense of oneness in the cosmic dance with universe
In the stillness of the night ,the only sound I hear
Is the celestial melodies from thy flute, crystal clear!
Born in Jammu and brought up in Delhi ,Leena Thampi is an articulate writer who's lost in her own little epiphanies and she gives them life with her quill. She's an author extraordinaire with four books to her credit -"Rhythms of a Heart", "Autumn Blaze" , An Allusion To Time' and Embers to Flames.
She has many articles published in India and abroad. She has received many elite accolades from different literary platforms worldwide.She has been awarded by Gujarat Sahitya Academy and Motivational Strips twice for her best contribution towards literature in the year 2021 and 2022.She was also the recipient of Rabindranath Tagore Memorial literary honours 2022 by Motivational Strips.
Her work mixes luminous writing, magical realism, myths, and the hard truths of everyday life.
Besides her flair for writing and deep-rooted love for music, she is an Entrepreneur,Relationship and life coach,specialised in child psychology.She is also a dancer and actor. She is currently working on her fifth book which is a collection of short stories.
Leena Thampi is a celebrated author and entrepreneur known for her captivating writing style that transcends the ordinary. With five published books and numerous internationally featured articles, her work has garnered widespread recognition and accolades. Recent accolades include four awards from" The Book Channel" for her four books across different categories, She's also the winner of the 'Women Face of the Year 2024' award by Fox Story India, and the City Excellence Awards by Bharat Times.
Her literary prowess has been recognized with Rabindranath Tagore Memorial literary honors and Gujarat Sahitya Academy honors. Leena's unique narrative voice blends luminous prose, magical realism, myths, and raw life realities, inviting readers into a world of wonder and introspection.
A multifaceted talent, Leena is a certified child psychologist, relationship coach, and TEFL trainer. She is the Co-founder and COO of HAVL Hi-Tech Pvt Ltd.
Her published works include "Rhythms of a Heart", "Autumn Blaze", "An Allusion To Time", "Embers to Flames", and "Celestial Melodies".
With over a hundred accolades from literary platforms worldwide, Leena continues to inspire with her writing. She is currently working on her sixth book, a collection of short stories. Her articles, poems, anthologies, interviews, and features have been published in national and international magazines and newspapers.
Darsana Kalarickal
(for Narges Mohammadi, Nobel Peace Prize Laureate, 2023)
Beyond the single window,
there lies the green—
the green of life.
Do you know?
I have been asleep for years...
But tell me,
Which mother can truly sleep
while her infants' cries
echo in the ears?
So many springs,
summers and autumns have passed.
They must have grown by now.
From a faraway land,
when snow begins to fall,
perhaps they remember me.
Once,
night and day we slept in each other’s arms.
We played hide and seek,
my two little angels—
one on either side of me.
Those daynights—
how beautiful they were.
If there is a heaven on earth,
it was our home.
And yet—
how many times
did you tear apart my heart?
Though there was a vast sky to fly in,
and countless trees to rest upon,
you imprisoned me.
Not just me—
but everyone
who dreamed of a vast and free sky.
In lands,
where religions draw their borders,
we were fishes in aquariums.
Oh Iran!
remember—
beneath your frozen crusts of snow
lie volcanoes waiting to erupt.
Their embers still burn.
One day, they will burst upon,
The walls of ice will melt,
and green will bloom again-
The green of hope.
The fish you imprisoned
will grow wings
and rise toward the clear sky.
Birds breaking free from their nests
will soar beside them.
Only those
who have lived through inequality and injustice
know the true worth of freedom.
What use are the awards,
you offer
to a woman in chains?
Give me freedom—
Give us freedom.
Let us, just once,
touch the green beyond the window.
*Darsana K.R., residing in Venginissery, Thrissur district, is an employee at Venginissery Service Cooperative Bank and a passionate poet. Her published works include the poetry collections *Kavithaye Pranayichaval, Pranayathil Akappettathinte Ezhaam Naal, and Kuldharaayil Oru Pakal; the short story collection Thekkedathamma V/S Ramakavi (co-authored with Dr. Ajay Narayanan); the memoir Kunnirangunna Kothiyormakal; and the poetry study Kavithayude Veraazhangal. Her poems and articles have been featured in various periodicals and online platforms. phone : 9645748219, email darsanakr1973@gmail.com.
Matralina Pati
Starved florets of this earth, too,
Once aspired to breathe.
Wilting heads
Bent forth:
An ardour to live.
Long days of drought
Now wane into nought:
From the green skin
Of this land,
Rises the paddy sheaf.
Matralina Pati, is a PhD research scholar working on marginal Indian bhasha literature (UGC Junior Research Fellow), a bilingual poet and a translator from Bankura, West Bengal. Her critical and creative writings have been published on national and international platforms. She has authored a book of translations titled Monsoon Seems Promising This Year (selected poems of postmodern poet Rudra Pati translated from Bengali into English).
LIFE IS PRECIOUS – KEEP THE FAITH AND HOPE
Sathya Venkatesh
You may feel low, you may feel weak
Everything around you may seem faulty and bleak
But don’t lose hope, be patient and wait
It will be truly worth it to keep the faith…
Are you going through enormous stress or strain?
By virtue of work or some other pain
Just reach out to a friend, talk to someone
Life is too precious to say “I’m done”
Ups and downs are part of life
Balancing it all is the key to survive
A hug from a friend is all you may need
Before you fasten the rope and let yourself bleed –
When God created man, he infused in him
Compassion, strength, intellect and dreams
He was convinced of creating a precious being
Who would reach great heights by his courage and caring
But have we as a race become so weak today?
At the slightest problem, we shrug and fall prey
To our own defeatist thoughts and anxiety
Sequestered from society – A modern fancy?
It’s time to re-think and promise ourselves
To stay positive and continue to excel
In our life’s pursuit of wealth and fame
Let us rely on one another and win the game!!
Hailing from Coimbatore and with a background in Economics, Sathya Venkatesh has always been passionate about English literature and poetry. After fifteen years as a freelance content writer, she transitioned to teaching English to government school students. She finds joy in poetry, travel, painting and Indian Philosophy which she feels deepens an understanding of self and fuels her creativity. She has published haiku poems on reputed journals such as haikuKatha, Haikuniverse and Autumn Moon Journal. She firmly believes in a higher purpose guiding her path.
Nandini Mitra
Sometimes eyes hide tears
And cover my soul,
Sometimes lips don't care to smile,
Awkwardly spread with glee,
Wearied soul whimpers in solitude,
Heart bleeds,
Eyes burn,
Time marches on,
Only emotions swell within.
Rustling of leaves on a breezy night
Shatter all dreams,
I'm an empty room with no echoes,
Heart strays across a lonely valley,
I got to walk it by myself ,
Heart bleeds,
Eyes burn,
Time marches on,
Only emotions swell within.
Standing alone on an empty shore
I watch the waves moving far away,
Tranquil sea,
Darkness spills from above,
I wonder, why sky has turned pale?
Heart bleeds,
Eyes burn,
Time marches on,
Only emotions swell within.
I SEND YOU AN OPEN INVITATION!
Nandini Mitra
Blow again
autumn breeze ,
Blow through the paddy fields,
Reach out to those blue hills,
I can hear the drums beating
Heart refuses to stay indoors
The child within gets restless
Hope and joy wander through the open valleys
I dive into the blue stream,
Nectar of love spills from heaven
The spirit of nature comes alive
Heart silently screams.
Can you hear the bugle blowing?
Autumn morning teases me,
I let myself flow onwards,
White grass flowers dance in the breeze
On the blank canvas of my soul mystery unveils ,
My mind breaks all rules
Travels beyond the horizon
Monsoon clouds accompanies me
This autumnal extravaganza tickles my fantasy.
Heart goes out of control,
Where are you?
Take a dip in this celebration
Spread the smile
Add more colour,
This existence is the Master's creative spectacular
Neither you nor I can ignore
Be there,
Let the autumn breeze blow
Blow through the paddy fields
And reach out to the hills
I send you an open invitation.
Nandini Mitra is a poet based in Kolkata. A post- graduate in English Literature from Jadavpur University. She is in the profession of teaching for last twenty -five years. She has published her first book of poetry,The Road To Tranquility, recently. Has worked as a freelance journalist for a prestigious Bengali magazine published from Kolkata. She is passionate about Music and is a trained classical singer. However, writing poetry has become an integral part of Nandini’s journey of life since 2011. She believes in the religion of humanity, compassion and love. She has a rich sense of metaphors and imageries and enthusiastic about weaving poetry relating to the realities of lives and the diversities of nature. Her poems have featured in various national and international anthologies.
Bipin Patsani
I have tasted enough of life
Friends, I have experienced
Much thrill and chill.
Between the tracks of good and evil
Enough I have travelled.
It is enough, enough,
It is all they call living.
Tomorrow you would not know
If ever I existed.
Tomorrow perhaps
You would not remember me,
Nor would you remember my dried up face.
It will vanish from your memory
Like a sinking sail.
Except some broken memories
Of what I have done,
You would not know me tomorrow.
You would not know what miseries
What mental agony I bury with me;
For sorrow is always private,
No one cares to share it.
Bipin Patsani
What wrong is there
That cannot be forgiven?
Can I not act again?
Won’t you grant me a renewed journey?
Please open the screen,
Open the screen please.
I’ll come again without looking back.
O if she would wake! My Eternity!
The sad vision vibrates in me ---
She cries stretching her invisible arms,
And grasping the smoke in vain
And kissing the dust she trod on,
I look vacant as helpless as Rustum.
Open the screen. I’ll come again,
I will come again without looking back.
What wrong is there that can’t be forgiven?
Must I end like this? Must I end for an error
Which could have been over looked?
Let me begin again, please.
From the dark night of suffering let me awake
Like Lazarus and start walking again,
Free as to embrace the whole world.
(From the poetry collection "ANOTHER VOYAGE"
published in 2010)
Bipin Patsani (b. 1951) has published poems in many prestigious journals and poetry anthologies including Indian Literature, Chandrabhaga, Journal of Indian Writing in English, Indian Scholar, Kavya Bharati, Poetcrit, International Poetry and Prophetic Voices etc. He has been translated to Spanish and Portuguese. He has three poetry collections to his credit (VOICE OF THE VALLEY, ANOTHER VOYAGE and HOMECOMING). He is a recipient of Michael Madhusudan Academy Award/ 1996 and Rock Pebbles National Award in 2018. He did his Post Graduation in English at Ravenshaw College, Cuttack in 1975 and served as a teacher in Arunachal Pradesh for 34 years till his superannuation in 2012. He also received Arunachal Pradesh State Government’s Award in 2002 for his dedicated service as a teacher. He lives with his family at Barunei Colony, Badatota in Khordha District of Odisha, India.
Ms Gargi Saha
Laughter,love,cheer, happiness
Hopes, merriment
Gradually diminishes
From the shores of life
Awaits an ocean of tumultuous battle
For man
And he is just an infinitesimal puppet in the
Hands of the Creator.
Ms Gargi Saha
I want not a bed of roses
Not walk on the thorny paths
But be a happy go lucky person
And anticipate unconditional love
From the near and far ones
Ms Gargi Saha
I cannot overcome the gory sights of blood
Sickness, death, morning easily
Let time take its tide....
Ms Gargi Saha is a creative writer and has published two poem books namely, 'The Muse in My Salad Days ', and 'Letters to Him '.Her poems have been featured in National and International Journals. She has received the Rabindranath Tagore Memorial Award and the Independence Day Award for poetry. Presently she edits several scientific research papers. She can be reached at gargi.paik@gmail.com
Swatishree Parija
The charismatic life comes as a guest,
It wants to live, to love, to grasp, and to rest.
It knows, it's a beautiful lie
Still it EXAGGERATES itself and YEARNS TO fly.
When the stubborn death arrives,
It steals all happiness, and sorrow thrives.
The reality of life is truly unbearable,
Death's certainty, not easily acceptable...
Death comes and takes the fragile soul,
Its vandalism is beyond control.
Afterward, a deep peace hangs everywhere,
Earthly dreams of a person no longer there.
The stubborn heart is at last set free,
To join the vast eternity.
Swatishree Parija is a second year B.Ed..student from Jajpur, Odisha. She is passionate about literature, painting and photography from her school days. She writes excellent poetry. Her paintings and photographic creations are equally outstanding. She has won many awards in essay writing, painting, and debate at the block, district, and state level.
Sreedharan Parokode
Small boys with
illuminating faces are in a hurry
to ligh the lamps.
Lamps are the symbol of
intellect and wisdom to
correct
life whenever a lapse occurs.
Light is not for mere
showing the way in onward journey.
It is the true way for
younger
generation.
Mind and body can clearly be
visible in the Supreme Light
without which a single minute or
single step cannot be used.
The real light is knowledge
and one can seek
it while sitting alone.
P.L.Sreedharan Parokode is a bi-lingual poet and lyricist from Malappuram district, Kerala. He has a Master's degree in English literature and Population Studies and a Post Graduate Diploma in Parental Education. Sreedharan has thirty books of poetry to his credit, including 'Weeping Womb', 'Slum Flowers,'Mahatma Gandhi' 'Nelson Mandela',Poems', 'Don't mum Please' etc. He has also written songs for professional dramas, for albums, songs for competitions, devotional songs etc. He has written songs for animation film also.
Sreedharan has attended various literary conferences in India and abroad. He presented his poems at World Congress of Poets, in Taiwan, 2015, China, 2018, and literary conference in Serbia, 2007.
He has received awards and honours from various organisations, such as, Sahitya shree Award, Sahitya Shiromani Award, Shan E Adab Award etc. He has also received an Hony.Doctorate from the World Academy of Art and Culture
Sreedharan is currently engaged in Doctoral Research in Population Studies from Annamalai University. Earlier he was working in the Administrative wing of the University of Calicut.
Dr. Radharani Nanda
The talent you hold
is a gift, bestowed upon you by God.
It may not manifest at its earliest
when you needed it most
Tried your best but failed
Ur life becomes mundane
You feel belittled and vexed.
All on a sudden life takes a twist
Your hidden aptitude comes to limelight .
That is God's will
It was within you from
the beginning.
Take it as a boon from
the Supreme
May it msnefest late.
There is nothing like"
Too late"
Have a glimpse to ur inner depth
Ur skill and excellence still preserved unblemished inside you
waiting long for God's command to rise anew.
May it manefest late.
If nurtured,
with sincerity and perseverance
It will bloom to its fullest and exude fragrance.
Disallow listlessness, frustrations, and despair
to dwell inside and pull you back
Navigate your journey with grit and faith.
Twilight will march to the dazzling day break.
May it msnefest late.
It is better to be late than never.
You are the sole occupant of your talent,
nobody can steal , robe or ruin.
It is a God's gift that will always shine.
Dr. Radharani Nanda completed MBBS from SCB Medical college, Cuttack and post graduation in Ophthalmology from MKCG Medical College, Berhampur. She joined in service under state govt and worked as Eye specialist in different DHQ hospitals and SDH. She retired as Director from Health and Family Welfare Department Govt of Odisha. During her service career she has conducted many eye camps and operated cataract surgery on lakhs of blind people in remote districts as well as costal districts of Odisha. She is the life member of AIOS and SOS. She writes short stories and poems in English and Odia. At present she works as Specialist in govt hospitals under NUHM.
Mrs. Setaluri Padmavathi
I looked at the sky through the branches of a tree
The ambiance changed my mind in the dusk;
I loved my travel in the pleasant evening
When the sky became cloudy and dark!
The showers of rain drenched the earth
The tender yellow petals swayed on the ground;
Green and clean space welcomes us all around
The lovely breeze at the seashore gives us a sweet sound!
I touched the flowers and felt their softness
I felt the fragrance of sweet yellow flowers:
I smelt the brown soil before the rainfall
I enjoyed the showers of blessing!
Is it my love for the rain and sunshine?
I live my life in the lap of nature
Is it my love for the gifts of nature?
What is love really?
Love cannot be seen in the objects
Love can be felt for the nature or people
Touch your heart and see once
If you love nature or feel for someone,
It is love!
Mrs. Setaluri Padmavathi, a postgraduate in English Literature with a B.Ed., has been in the field of education for more than three decades. Writing has always been her passion that translates itself into poems of different genres, short stories and articles on a variety of themes and topics. She is a bilingual poet and writes poems in Telugu and English. Her poems were published in many international anthologies and can be read on her blogsetaluripadma.wordpress.com. Padmavathi’s poems and other writings regularly appear on Muse India.com. Boloji.com, Science Shore, Setu, InnerChild Press Anthologies and Poemhunter.com
Dr. Niranjan Barik
It began with the sacred chant,
Ahe Daya Maya Biswa Bihari,
the Compassionate Wanderer of the Universe.
Perhaps, in that invocation,
the self dissolved briefly into the cosmic breath,
a merging of the known and the unknowable.
A hush of reverence,
before the day's trials in Sanskrit, Math, and English—
each a mountain to climb,
gripped the heart with quiet dread.
Then came the bell—Intermission.
A gust of freedom through barred windows.
The Statue of Liberty might have smiled,
urging us to flee the jail-like classroom
where even a whisper or a wandering look,
indoors or out,
was frowned upon and questioned.
Each room bore Gandhian discipline,
chalk-dusted and spine-straightening.
The Nation Builders stood tall on the walls,
sending tremors down our tender bones.
But the bell—ah, the bell!
It rang like a call to arms,
and none could stop us
from rushing into the open,
leaping into the cacophony.
The field was uneven—
bumps, hollows, patches of wild grass,
but our spirits soared.
For half an hour,
we tasted the elixir of youth.
This was the best part of life,
the golden intermission
before the dusk of days.
Another bell would ring
a gentle summons to return
to square one.
But not for long.
At four, the gates would open
to the hearth and home.
And there, a mother’s sari apron
would wipe the sweat from your brow,
as if you were a soldier
returned from battle,
wounded,
and loved.
(In those days, our school stretched from ten to four.)
Professor Niranjan Barik ,formerly Professor and Head, Department of Political Science at Ravenshaw University also served as a Professor of Pol.Sc and Principal , Khallikote Autonomous College, Berhampur, Odisha. A Fulbright Scholar-in-Residence at Miles College, Birmingham, AL, USA in 2007-08 , Prof Barik evinces interest in reading and writing short stories and poems in Odia and English. His poetry book , “Freedom from Bondage: An Ode to Nature” published by Black Eagle was released in Bhubaneswar in December 2023.
Arpita Priyadarsini
For once
I want to write about love
For once
I want to know how it feels to be held
With a promise of not being left ever again
I want to write about happiness
And how it aligns with love
And about souls
That decide to entwine with eachother
You ask me about my dreams
But never actually sit down
To listen and write them down
Exactly the way they're
So I get afraid
When you ask me
My idea of love
My idea of love
Lies in moments
Moments where not once
Not twice
But you decide to fall for one
A million times and more
I seek for that
And I ask them even
Where did they find that love
And the answer always remains the same
It'll come when the time is right
So I ask
I ask the time
If it has never been right for me
Or I have just over looked it's righteousness
I've lost hopes
Yet kept it alive
to write of love
One day or the other
You can never not see me
Being a hopeless romantic
In a world full of hues of lies and sins
Sins that they identify as love
And label them with pretty names
I'd still look around
And wait for it
For once I know it'll be mine
And only mine to hold
Arpita Priyadarsini, I`m currently working under Home department, Government of Odisha, has keen interest in literature. She loves reading fiction and poetry. She started writing poems few years back and has been published by an international publication house twice. Her Instagram handle is @elly__.writes, which is solely dedicated to her love for poetry.
Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi
My fretful concubine
laughs at the many colours;
she thinks none can be
more colourful than her.
She has tasted the waters
of the golden rivers,
the drops from the seven seas
I swam across to get for her.
The jewels from the deep caverns,
I brought to her,
she sneered at the jewels, the diamonds,
and the stones many would die for.
She kept fretting,
wanting more
of all that I gave her
and all that I could not give.
She drove me to the unknown depths,
and pushed me to the limitless sky
She made me climb the wild mountains
and breathe the thin, lifeless air.
She made me kill,
she made me steal
she drove me wild
with raw passion and zeal.
When I fell back tired, exhausted,
she mocked at me,
she made me whine,
Life, my fretful concubine!
Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi is a retired civil servant and a former Judge in a Tribunal. Currently his time is divided between writing poems, short stories and editing the eMagazine LiteraryVibes . Four collections of his short stories in English have been published under the title The Jasmine Girl at Haji Ali, A Train to Kolkata, Anjie, Pat and India's Poor, The Fourth Monkey. He has also to his credit nine books of short stories in Odiya. He has won a couple of awards, notably the Fakir Mohan Senapati Award for Short Stories from the Utkal Sahitya Samaj. He lives in Bhubaneswar.
POETRY AS A DOOR TO WELLNESS
Jaydeep Sarangi
This Could be a Love Poem for You, Ranu Uniyal, Red River, New Delhi, 2025
- Reviewed by Jaydeep Sarangi
A writer located in Lucknow, India means she possesses a rich baggage of art and history, rooted deep. Ranu Uniyal, a seasoned academic and a poet, engages us with her beguilingly sensuous poetic corpus and forms for which she deserves a very special place in contemporary Indian English poetry. With her latest collection This Could be a Love Poem for You Ranu Uniyal becomes a confident map maker in contemporary Indian English poetry, and she explicitly claims in the poem, ‘English in Me’:
English is the language
I make love in.
Language question is an important parameter to read any postcolonial discourse. The lyrical quality through a sublime command over the medium of Ranu’s poetry enhances its thematic and emotional impact.
Many of Ranu’s poems are reflection of personal anecdotes with universal insights, creating a connection between the intimate and the collective. Her ability to draw from her own experiences while addressing themes that resonate broadly allow readers to see their own life-stories reflected in her poetry. This interplay between personal and universal experiences enriches the readers’ engagement with her work, fostering a deeper connection to the themes she explores in depth.
Grief involves a separation from life. Filled with rasa, many of Ranu’s poems cling to life’s fuzzy philosophies. The poet delves into how grief can facilitate self-knowledge:
Back in my chamber
I pick up my pen
discard the calendar and
my robes of grief.
Beauty in her poems lies with the quintessential feeling of absences when someone leaves home behind:
It is true she said goodbye on
a cold February night.
Some of Ranu’s poems uncover the mystery of innocence. Images in her poems are a sumptuous recipe for a feast of ideas and poetic credentials. In the Introduction noted author Anamika observes, “…they are fully ripe and, as we all know, ripeness is all.”
With Ranu’s sparkling cadence, illness of life becomes wellness of mind. Her choices of words and images coupling the incisive eye of an academic and with the emotive directness of a poet capture ‘mind time’ of appearances and disappearances of objects and sights. We loath how time flies. Human mind is deeper than a regular matter. The sense of inhabiting is a constant search which haunts the poet:
Why? In times
such as these with heart
cut into shreds and hands tired,
hunger docile, I still cling to life.
The poet has strong faith in her elements. Being indeterminate and evasive by human birth, life and light can always be lost.
Transparent not trivial,
cool but not cold,
detached and not dry(.)
Ranu wants to do with her words what spring does with the cherry trees. Playing upon this line from the famous Neruda love poem, We would say what autumnal grace has done to Ranu’s poetic corpus:
We become like two aliens in twilight.
Hence, I wait for midnight.
Reading this collection feels like stepping through pages of mythology.
Many lines deliver what readers of poetry seek; connections with mindscapes of extraordinary beauty:
Moments scarce and uncertain
bridge the distance between light and dark.
Oscillating between light and dark the poet asks, “Is this the appropriate time for mourning?”
There is plenty of straight speaking in these poems and yet, the aesthetics of the craft remains untainted. Ranu works with sublimation of pain, rage, hurt and thirst into the universality and permanence of art,
My desi friends
make fun of
my Sanskrit seeped in
accented English(.)
These lines don’t just speak to the heart; it sings to the soul and the collection is a rare gem. Happy reading!
Dubbed as ‘Bard on the Banks of Dulung’ Jaydeep Sarangi is an Indian poet, poetry activist with eleven poetry collections in English latest being the half-confession (2024) and a scholar on dalit studies, postcolonial studies and Indian Writings with forty one books anchored in Kolkata/Jhargram,. Widely anthologised and reviewed as a significant contemporary poet With Rob Harle he has edited six anthologies of poems from Australia and India which are a wealthy literary link between the nations. With Amelia Walker, he has guest edited a special issue for TEXT, Australia. His recent co-authored books include, Mapping the Mind , Minding The Map:Twenty Contemporary Indian English Poets , Sahitya Akademi, 2023 and A Life Uprooted: A Bengali Dalit Refugee Remembers, Sahitya Akademi, 2023. His latest book on poetry is Within Her Home and Outside: Essays on Indian English Poetry (2025). Sarangi is currently the President of Guild of Indian English Writers, Editors and Critics (GIEWEC) and Vice President, EC, Intercultural Poetry and Performance Library, Kolkata. Living with poets and poetry, Sarangi is the principal of New Alipore College, Kolkata. He may be reached at: jaydeepsarangi1@gmail.com Website : https://jaydeepsarangi.in/
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